


Just, a Boy

by oldmanjenkins



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bakery, Drarry, Dressing wounds, F/M, Getting Together, Introspection, M/M, Muggle London, Post-War, Scars, Self-Harm, Skin picking, its gay, kinda not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:02:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22563703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldmanjenkins/pseuds/oldmanjenkins
Summary: Post-War, Harry is lost and returns to muggle London for a simple life, but nothing is ever simple is it?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Kudos: 32





	Just, a Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so I play Hogwarts Mystery and follow their Instagram and there was a promo for a recent side adventure where Tonks helps you get a date and I’ve seen them do this challenge many times and I was thinking “is this modeled after Harry “chosen one” Potter being a hoe in high school?”
> 
> So I started thinking of that, and then I started thinking about Ginny and a vid I saw where Daniel Radcliffe was saying she was a good balance for Harry but for some reason my characterization of him (this is coming from someone who has just seen the movies don’t come at me) didn’t seem to line up with that, now add to that the fuck ton of Drarry content I’ve seen on Tumblr and how I basically characterize them based on their fanon versions…. So here we are. Let it also be known that I have zero impulse control.

So, let’s just say Harry and Ginny do stay together after high school. It’s a lot of trauma and healing and tough love. It’s a soothing love after years of pain; the familiarity, the family, it’s what they both need.  
As the dust settles, as the scars fade, the days become brighter.  
Ginny is in training to become a bad ass quidditch player, and Harry… well Harry’s not too sure. He hasn’t been particularly sure about anything since the war to be honest.  
He still gets stopped in the street for a quick picture, gets chatted up in a bar for another war story, still uses his magic for some everyday inconveniences, but when you’ve mostly been made a weapon for the majority of your learning years sometimes you just can’t help but feel like any spell will end in tragedy.

Maybe he needs a break. Takes the train by himself to muggle London. His first text from Ginny in over a month starts and ends with “I’m sorry but it’s for the best.”  
Maybe the chilly streets are soothing.  
Maybe he doesn’t even feel the need to cast a quick warming charm.  
Maybe what he really needed was anonymity.  
No longer the chosen one. Just, a boy.

So, he lives like that. In a small flat in London. Ron and Hermione still visit of course.  
He works at a local daycare Monday – Thursday. He drinks on Fridays. He paints on Saturdays. He wanders around the city on Sundays.

Then, perhaps, he’s got off work early on a warm Thursday and decides to swing by his favorite sweets shop that nearly rivals those of the great hall, and … by God, that’s Draco fucking Malfoy.  
Is he fucking smiling? That fucker. Serving cakes to little kids like he’s not a bloody – wait, wait, Harry breathe, the renounced his family remember? He saved your life, you saved his life, be cool. Maybe I’ll just come back later. Nope he sees me. He saw me pacing and gesturing like a mad man didn’t he? Fuck.

Ding

At a loss for words, they just stare at each other for a few, long, seconds. Very long seconds.

Ahem

They both jump out of their skin; the line has grown substantially. Harry quickly orders, Draco quickly checks him out (not like that… yet). Harry runs out of the store.

It would be wise I would say for Harry to never ever go back there, but we’ve never really known Harry to be wise have we?

And so he does go back. Many times. To the point where the staff know him by name and 100% think Draco and Harry are in love with each other despite never really talking. It does however quickly go from silence, to fleeting glances, to order suggestions, to jabs about “getting fat”, to full on bickering in front of the whole store. The only difference now its that it’s more of an old habit than a power move. They’d never admit it but they always part ways with a tinge of a smile pulling at their lips.

Now finally, for the love of God, after Harry’s third trip to the shop in a week, Draco’s manager tells him to take the night off, “The poor lad’s in debt now trying to get your attention. Get you’re head out of your arse and take him out for a drink already!”  
Shocked, Draco walks out of the back, red-earred, “Fancy a drink, Potter?”

The pub is loud. They sit at the bar. They don’t say anything.  
Surprise, surprise, real human interaction is hard isn’t it?  
They drink more than they talk, and when they do talk it’s little mundane things.  
Harry steals glances of Draco, his lean body, elongated by black jeans, contrasted by his moonlight hair. It’s longer now, curls a bit at the ends, it’s cute.  
Draco doesn’t make eye contact. He sips his wine, his legs crossed, posture upright.  
He nods and hums and answers all of Harry’s questions but not excessively. He pretends to be a pretentious bastard who smells his wine every ten seconds but really it’s to keep out Harry’s scent of warm grass and muggle sweets and fresh flannel and the fact that the only reason why he knows that is from a perfectly brewed amortentia in 12th year (it was perfect he checked three times) but it’s not like he’d ever tell him that. Never in a million years.

It’s a couple hours in and Harry thinks Draco’s bored, and Draco thinks Harry keeps looking at someone else.  
Draco downs his wine and stands, every intention to leave but how can he with those huge emerald eyes looking so worried? Draco clears his throat, “Loo.” And walks off.  
Harry’s heart sinks, he berates himself, he mindlessly picks at the scarred skin around his bitten nails.  
It feels like hours before Draco sits back down. His sleeves are rolled, Harry internally gasps at the mangled death eater mark, “Draco…” Draco quickly pulls his sleeves back down, looking anywhere but Harry, “Shut it.” “But –” Draco orders a shot. Harry returns to his nails.

Drinks empty, neither of them are really thinking of anything when, “Ouch”, suddenly all of Draco’s attention is on Harry. “Jesus Christ, Potter.” Draco swiftly pulls a first aid kit from his bag, wraps his bleeding finger in a disinfecting wipe. His hands tremble, he ruins the first band aid getting it out of the packaging, he sticks the second one to itself, he finally gets it on the third try but it’s way too tight. Harry bursts out laughing. Draco jumps, “Wha-what? Did I do it wrong?” Through laughter, Harry heaves out, “I just – you’re so clumsy! Draco “perfectionist” Malfoy!” Harry nearly falls out of his chair.

Draco’s face reddens. He shoves his things into his bag and storms out. Still laughing, Harry hurries after him. He catches up to him outside. Draco sulks, refuses to look at him. Harry, reading Draco like an open book, circles him playfully, trying to meet his eyes. After a good few minutes of dancing around each other Draco finally turns to Harry, sticks out his tongue, like a freaking child, grins and runs away. Harry, feigning shock, takes off after him. In the middle of the night, down an old London street, the two laugh like they’re kids again. Harry chases him, knowing he’ll catch up eventually, but wishing he would do so sooner.


End file.
